


Un Beau Festin

by no-me-malone (queenallyababwa)



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Body Worship, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Feedism, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Insecurity, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Stuffing, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 05:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10915095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenallyababwa/pseuds/no-me-malone
Summary: "A Handsome Feast"There are some days when LeFou wants to kiss Gaston and there are some days when LeFou wants to be Gaston. Little does he know that Gaston already thinks he's perfect.





	Un Beau Festin

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly can't believe I wrote for this ship and for this kink. But the prompt was proposed in the Tally Hoes chat group and I actually liked the idea so I went with it. Enjoy.

As a boy, LeFou was adored by the countless women of the village. Small and round and wide-eyed, they couldn’t resist cooing over him, pinching his cheeks, wishing their own sons were that cute. (Of course, it was their sons who made fun of him for being so different.) But even still, as he walked through the village, running errands for  Grand-mère, the baker’s wife would slip him a biscuit before he left the shop, telling that he was a sweet little boy. Not a ruffian like her own child. 

But soon, LeFou and the other boys started to grow up. All around him, the others grew taller and lankier before their shoulders broadened and their face narrowed and chiseled. And yet, all the while LeFou stayed short and chubby. Sure, his voice deepened and he got every mark of a young man like the other boys in town, but he never changed so dramatically like the rest.

He tried not to let it bother him much. He had come from a family of larger people. Papa had been burly, strong, but nevertheless staut. Maman was petite yet rotund, as was  Grand-mère. He knew - coming from the family he did - that he would never quite be long and graceful.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t want it.

In front of the looking glass, sometimes LeFou would stand and look at his body while he dressed. Pale and fleshy, his fingers traced all of the scars that the war has left him Most of them were in the form of stretch marks that had formed when he put on weight, nervously overindulging before he went off to military training. One of these scars across his belly stuck out from the rest - the large, circular one grazing his left hip where he had been shot during one battle towards the end of his service. Quite frankly, it amazed him that he had made it so far without injury, knowing the combination of his large frame and poor gunmanship, he was easy prey.

By some miracle, he was not swooped up, ravaged the by enemy wolves. It was, of course, because he was protected by the biggest predator of them all - Captain Gaston. A fearless leader, stern with his tropes, his only soft sport was for his childhood companion. Although Gaston had volunteered himself for the ranks and had ascended through them with an unnatural ease, he knew that his longtime friend would be lost among the cannon fodder. So, through any means possible, Gaston kept LeFou safe. He insisted to his superiors that LeFou was good enough to serve below him, granting his subordinate permission to stay in his tent although it elicited suspicion from quite a few of the other recruits. 

Those close quarters, however, were both a blessing and a curse. It provided the protection that LeFou needed in order to make it through the war alive, but it fueled his darkest thoughts. In the early hours of morning, through the lamplight, LeFou could watch Gaston dress, blushing into his bedroll as he tried to hide his gaze. 

Gaston. Perfect. A pure paragon. 

And the opposite of LeFou.

Long and lean and tan, Gaston was a sight to behold as he tugged on his britches over his knicker with the way his muscles bristled. He was toned and fit and ready for a fight. His jawline? Square and firm, manly all the way to the prominent cleft on his chin. There was absolutely nothing round or boyish about this man of marble. 

LeFou’s hand goes from his belly to his face, just as round as everything else about him. He traces his jaw hidden but his multiple chins before pinching his cheeks. He sighs. Nothing about him will ever be as  chiseled as Gaston, but as he stands there in full view of his whole self, he believes that he should try.

LeFou reaches and grabs his hair ribbon from his dresser, tucking it between his teeth as he pulls his long hair up into a ponytail. As he readies himself for the morning, he decides his course of action. He plans to try and change himself - eat less, drink a little more moderately. Perhaps even get in some exercise. Although he knows he would never reach the extreme idolize form of Gaston, he can still improve himself, make himself more appealing.

He tugs on his shirt, buttoning it up before he pulls on his trousers. For a moment, he dreams of the day that the buttons will sit straighter or that his pants will go on completely effortlessly as he ties his bowtie and finishes getting ready for the day. 

When he emerges from his house, he finds Gaston waiting for him. A glance at his pocket watch tells him that it’s nearly eight-thirty - the time the two usually meet before strolling into the village. LeFou tucks his watch back into his the pocket of his plum coat and makes sure the door has locked behind him properly.

“Good morning, LeFou,” Gaston greets him, bright and genuinely glad to see his companion. 

Was it the brisk autumn wind blowing around him or the sight of Gaston standing tall and proud in the morning light that took his breath away, LeFou wasn’t quite sure. He smiles to himself as he finds himself standing even straighter - at military attention - just being the presence of this man among men. He walks down the stairs of his cottage to stand alongside Gaston. And although it would be so easy to compare himself to this nonpareil and feel down, the way Gaston smiles as LeFou greets him inspires him. 

 

***

He tries to make his changes slowly. 

He cuts back on his drink at the tavern from that night on. Not that he throws them back quite like Gaston, but he does drink a lot of beer.  It’s so easy to have three steins over the course of a night but he tries to balance its effects on him by eating something at the tavern. Gaston likes to keep himself and his fans’ thirsts sufficiently quenched, so he’s always calling for the bar maid to bring them another round as he has LeFou give a vivid recollection of one of his heroic feats from the war or as he and Tom, Dick, and Stanley take up another hand at cards.

But this time, LeFou allots himself only one tankard and when he’s done, he’s done. When Gaston calls for the second round of drinks, he accepts, but he only takes two sips to be polite before pushing it away as he concentrates on the hand that Dick has dealt him;  he has never been a great poker player, but maybe without his mind clouded by alcohol, he can focus on his game. 

Somehow, he’s almost just as poor at cards as he was without alcohol. However, everyone else around him does not seem to notice that he’s more sober than he usually is at this time of night. Everyone else seems to be so wrapt up in their own intoxication. It’s a Saturday night and with a day to recuperate, it seems like the beer is flowing more than ever. Before the end of the night, Gaston has six emptied steins surrounding him. 

Of course, this leaves LeFou as the only truly sober one in the group. Tom, Dick, and Stanley wander off before Gaston finishes his fourth, so he is the only one who can help get Gaston home. The rest of the bar is filtering out as it is getting late; there is a low chatter as the last few people start trying to head out for the night.

The larger man is sitting in at his table, surrounded by some of the women who always seems to always cling on, each of them for vying for his attention. One of them has succeeded in amusing him and he roars with laughter at something she said, pounding his fist on the table, sending the empty tankards clinking in protest to his strength. When he looks up and sees his friend, he calls him over.

“I hate to interrupt,” LeFou begins when he approaches the table. “But do you think it’d be best if we head out for the night?”

“Aw, can’t you stay for another round?” The stronger man pleads, putting heavy arm around LeFou, trying to force him to sit next to him on the bench.

“It’s very late, Gaston,” LeFou says with a sigh. 

“Nonsense it’s -”

LeFou has already checked his pocket watch. “It’s very early in the morning, Gaston. It’s nearly two am.”

It takes some convincing, but LeFou manages to get Gaston off of his chair and out of the tavern. As they start on the walk towards his cottage, Gaston is still laughing as he leans against his friend. LeFou has to use all of his strength to support the man who was telling him a lewd joke he had heard from Dick. Being essentially Gaston’s caretaker, it was customary for LeFou to laugh along, but how was he supposed to act as Gaston’s hand slip from where it’s wrapped around LeFou’s shoulder to skirt down his back.

“ _ Whoa _ ,” he exasperates when the hand wanders to cup his ass and gives it a squeeze. He pulls himself out from underneath Gaston and holds him up. He is thankful that they have taken the path hidden from the main road where perchance someone would see them. “Gaston!”

“What? Didn’t you like?”

For a brief second, LeFou admits he did. A little bit.

But he can’t let that distract him. He needs to carry on.

The last quarter mile to Gaston’s home are difficult - Gaston is still continuing his rambling, his hands are still exploring LeFou’s body as he grips onto him for support and LeFou’s  breathing hitches everytime Gaston touches a sensitive area or when his head lolls on his shoulder as he laughs and assures LeFou that he’s his “best friend.” But finally, they make it to his cottage. As they walk up the stairs, LeFou and Gaston nearly trip on an escaped chicken that managed to break out of the coop. 

“Gaston, where’s your key?” LeFou asks

“In my pocket.”

“Okay,” LeFou breathes, waiting for the other man to fish it out, but Gaston does no such thing.

“ _ Gaston _ ,” LeFou repeats, trying to focus the intoxicated man.

“Yes?”

“Your key.”

“You’re going to have to reach inside and get it, LeFou,” Gaston tells him hoarsely, unbuttoning his coat. He juts out his hip towards LeFou, placing his hands on his hip. He looks smug, devilish. 

LeFou bites his lip. He can’t believe this is actually happening.

(He can’t believe Gaston is coming on to him. Is Gaston coming onto him? He knows he’s incredibly drunk - most likely the most drunk LeFou has seen him in a very long time - but doesn’t he know he’s flirting  _ with a man _ ? He should be, with how his hands have traced nearly every inch of LeFou. Does he even know how much those touches have affected him?)

Nevertheless, he shakes all of this and looks sternly up to the man. “Gaston, it’s freezing outside,” LeFou says in a whisper. “Stop playing games.” 

But he knows he needs to cave in and do it. He’s cold and (he doesn’t want to admit this) hungry and he just wants to go to sleep. The faster he can get Gaston to go to bed, the quicker he can do just that.

He puts one hand overtop of Gaston’s one and puts his hands in one of the pockets, his fingers grasping for metal, but to little avail. There is nothing in Gaston’s left-hand pocket and he has to try the other side. The metallic taste of blood goes against his tongue as his fingers brush against Gaston’s muscular leg through the fabric of his pocket. He doesn’t dare make any sort of eye contact with the other man, only trying to

He finds the key and shoves it into the latch, guiding Gaston inside. There is not a bit of light in the entire house and he makes quick work to light a candle. While he searches for the matches, Gaston topples into his antler-crafted chair, still chortling at something amusing. LeFou fumbles with the little box and sets the room a-glow. He takes off his coat, because he knows that it’ll be a long night.

“Come on, Gaston,” LeFou encourages, trying to pull him up and lead him up towards the bedroom. Gaston flops against him and the way he reaches for the stouter man’s hip is a clear indication that he still is eager for human touch. All of this is very difficult while still trying to hold the candle upright and navigate through the very dark home.

“Still frisky, I see,” LeFou mumbles as the pair shuffle up the stairs and Gaston’s hands grasp onto any piece of LeFou they can get ahold of. 

They finally reach Gaston’s room and LeFou lets him fall into bed. Setting the candle on the bedside table, he tries to tug off Gaston’s boots. At this time of night, in Gaston’s state, there is no way he could even attempt to help him undress any further than the bare minimum. 

(He still has to walk home himself, though he doesn’t have it in him to make the journey home.) 

After LeFou succeeds in getting the other man’s large boots off of his feet, he tries to coax him between the sheets and under the covers. But as the other man slide below the thick quilt, he says something that takes the ground from right underneath poor LeFou.

“LeFou,” Gaston snickers horsley. He looks him right in the eye and slurs, “You look so handsome tonight.”

LeFou blinks. The words, mumbled but still as sharp as a knife, cut through his thoughts, clear the clouds of his annoyance fogging his head. 

_ “You look so handsome tonight.” _

He wants to hear it again, to confirm what was just spoken in the silent room. To restart his heart after it nearly stopped. 

LeFou doubts - for the briefest of moments - that he looks good. His hair is probably falling out of it’s ribbon. Dick spilled the s wine on the table and Lefou’s right sleeve had fallen victim to the puddle. And with the half an hour he had spent earlier that day scrutinizing every last inch of his body, he’s not feel very confident in himself.

And he knows that Gaston is drunk. He knows it’s late. He knows that people say stupid things in their early-morning haze of intoxication. 

But god, does he really want to believe it when the words tumble from Gaston’s lips.

“So handsome,” Gaston murmurs before pulling the blankets around himself and drifts off to sleep, leaving LeFou alone.

He bites his lip again and decides against going back to his cottage another quarter mile away. He’ll stay the night in Gaston’s kitchen and be there in the morning to see him through the crashing hangover yet to come. He’s done it all before, so it’s a matter of repeating the motions as he grabs a spare quilt from Gaston’s armoire, tucks it under his arm, and takes himself downstairs. He curls up on one of the chairs - the comfiest of the ones carved from wood- and convinces himself to sleep.

But this time, he falls asleep with a small smile on his face. 

Handsome. In a corner of his mind, brought forth by booze, Gaston thinks he’s handsome. 

 

***

In the morning, LeFou fetches some eggs and cooks them with a few cured pork sausages he finds in Gaston’s cupboards. While they sizzle and cook over the fire he built, he begins to work the cafetière, stirring the grinds inside as he tries to ignore the shooting pain in his back from having slept in an awkward position. But he can only imagine the pain Gaston should be in as the older man comes down the stairs, following the smell of coffee and eggs like a lumbering bear.

Through heavy-lidded eyes, Gaston looks at LeFou and murmurs, “I thought you would have left by now.”

“You were really drunk last night,” LeFou says, turning around with the cafetiere, still insistently stirring the coffee. “I would have felt bad leaving you in such a state.”

“Mark of a true friend,” Gaston mumbles as crosses the room and falls heavily into the chair. He’s still wearing the same clothes as he wore last night sans his red vest and heavy coat. His long hair has fallen out of its ponytail, the dark locks cascading over his shoulders. 

“I try.”

LeFou can feel his heart race as he remembers the brief moments the two shared last night. Or rather, what Gaston had said and what he had experienced. Their friendship spanned decades, through dark nights and watching their country bleed. But yet. In all of those years, Gaston’s compliments had never seemed to be based on LeFou’s looks. Sure, once in awhile he’d compliment his new waistcoat, but it seemed like any sort of attention he gave LeFou was focused on things beyond his physical attributes.

LeFou turns away and presses down on the coffee pot and pours himself and Gaston two small cups of the brew.  He gives one to his friend and pushes back his friend’s hair that fell over his face as the cup exchanged hands.

“Headache?”

“The worst.”

“This should help,” LeFou tells him reassuringly. He turns back to the skillet over the fire. “How many eggs would you like?”

He plates Gaston’s enormous breakfast for an equally enormous man. But for himself, he takes only a single egg and two sausages. 

He wants to give Gaston a reason to continue to think he’s handsome, if not even more.

 

***

LeFou’s diet goes this way for weeks.  Drinking less beer, eating less overall, cutting down on what groceries he brought home with him during his visits to the market every week. He starts to avoid temptation of sweets -surprisingly everywhere in such a small village. The marketplaces were brimming with baked goods and sweet confections on display. When he was so hungry in the gap between his mid-day meal and supper, nothing ever seemed so enticing than the eclairs sitting on Monsieur Fabre’s shop, framed by a multitude of small cakes decorated with candied violets.

LeFou tries to restrain his drooling as Madame Fabre places the artfully arranged sweet rolls into the display window. She smiles at him as she sets the heavy-looking silver platter down and motions for him to come inside. He’s tried to hide his hungry eyes but he’s obviously failed. So with a shake of a head and a hand motion, LeFou carries on.

It takes a while for the other people to pick up on that LeFou has changed his eating habits overall, but people are quick to notice he’s stopped drinking at the tavern like he used to. Clothilde, the barmaid with eagle eyes, brought it up not a week into LeFou’s plan as the group plays cards yet again.

“What’s the matter? You lost your taste for beer?” She smirks as she collects the empty mugs from Gaston and his hangers-on that have amassed over the night and this include LeFou’s half-empty one. 

“No,” LeFou confesses, growing the slightest bit pink. “Just trying to cut back, that’s all.”

As Clothilde shuffles away, LeFou hears her murmur something in annoyance, but her voice is too low for him to hear - which was always one of Clotilde's best skills.

“You’re cutting back?” Tom repeats, looking skeptical, but bursts out into laughter. Dick joins him. Stanley and Gaston do not.

“What’s so funny about not going home pissed every night?” LeFou asks, indignant. “I’m sure Colette would appreciate it if you did likewise, Tom.”

Tom is silent after this, and LeFou returns to the terrible hand he has dealt to him in this round of poker. But as he looks through his cards, he feels the heat of another’s eyes. When he peers up, he sees that Gaston is still looking at him, questioning him. The two make eye contact for the briefest moment and LeFou tries to analyze what Gaston is thinking about all of this, if he is offended that his friend has rejected the countless drinks he’s offered him. But Gaston looks away when Stanley announces that it’s Dick’s turn to draw.

In addition to cutting back, LeFou begins to get up early and walk in the brisk wind for an hour or so before he returns back to his cottage to straighten himself up for the day ahead. He knows that it’s not quite Gaston’s vigorous exercise regime, but it works well enough for him; it leaves him blush and feeling invigorated. 

All of this work leads to the desired effect. It starts out small, where her notices that he’s pulling harder at the drawstrings of his knickers but they aren’t staying in place quite the way they used to. In the mirror, he begins to notice his slimmer face as he shaves in the early morning light. 

It takes much more time for the villagers to notice that LeFou has lost weight, though. As the autumn months seep into the days of early winter, everyone is bundled up in large and loose coats, so any change in one’s body might go unnoticed for a while. But even then, when LeFou goes to the butcher shop, Madame Durand working at the front counter stops him as she hands him his wrapped package of pork chops.

“I can’t place it,” she says, cocking her head to the side as she studies him. “But something’s different about you right now.”

As the weeks past and as LeFou spends his evening hours not at the tavern but by his fireside, but taking in the waists of his pants, more and more people begin to notice. From that first encounter with the butcher’s wife, it becomes more apparent that LeFou has changed. People begin to remark that he looks good, that he’s never seemed healthier. It seems like everyone in town, when they finally pick up on it, offers congratulatory remarks. 

Everyone, LeFou notices, but Gaston. 

Gaston has not said anything about LeFou’s appearance in the weeks following his drunken night. Even as the girls who swoop by the Duo’s place near the fire to compliment Gaston on how handsome he’s looking that night offer LeFou a smile and a bit of praise, he doesn’t say anything, too distracted by his drink.

And so LeFou once again returns to the mirror that night, trying to figure it out. He’s lost weight. Everyone in town agrees that he’s never looked better, that he looks so  _ handsome _ . But Gaston has said nothing. 

With a sigh he traces a hand over his face and turns away.

 

***

It’s strange, LeFou thinks, that Gaston says absolutely nothing, but his actions are something entirely different. Starting from that night on the tavern, Gaston starts ordering dinner there. He almost never eats supper at the bar, insisting that while the ale is up to his standards, the food is often not. As LeFou steps inside from the November snowfall, he finds Gaston sitting at a table with two bowls of the soup du jour. As LeFou crosses the room - still relatively empty at this early in the night - and takes off his hat, Gaston calls over to him.

“I got us some dinner,” he says brightly, pushing the other bowl towards LeFou. “Clothilde made the beef and barley kind you like.”

“I - I ate before I left,” LeFou tells him as stands over the table, fidgeting with the brim of his snow-soaked hat.  And it was the truth, he had bowl of stew from home before he left for the tavern. 

“Well, surely you can’t refuse this, LeFou,” Gaston insists. “It’s Clotilde's finest. Even  _ I _ think so. This is gourmet to what she usually cooks up.”

“Don’t tell her that,” LeFou tells him as he pulls a chair. If Gaston insists he bought the soup for him, then he’ll eat it. 

But it goes beyond the dinner at the tavern. Soon LeFou begins to notice that Gaston sneaks food into nearly all of their time together. On hunting trips, he offers his companion a bit of the cured jerky he had the butcher smoke for him. In the mornings when Gaston and LeFou meet, the Captain always has a box of pastries tucked under his arm, offering them to his friend as a gift. As they walk through the market, Gaston purchases two clementines and hands one to LeFou, though the other man never seems to eat the fruit and merely tucks it away into his pocket for another time. 

LeFou doesn’t have the heart to refuse food from Gaston because there just seems to be something so  _ genuine  _ about when his friend offers him a slice of apple torte or orders a cheese plate from the tavern for the table. He can’t resist the somewhat earnest way Gaston hands him something to eat. 

No one says no to Gaston. Especially LeFou. 

This near constant stream of snacks goes on for nearly two weeks and by then, it’s near Christmas time. For a bit, LeFou considers putting his diet on hold until after the Epiphany, as he knows he’ll be expected to eat large quantities of rich food. But by the time he decides this, it already seems too late to really say he’s abandoning the diet because it seems like he already has. LeFou doesn’t notice too much of a difference in his body other than his trousers being a little more snug than usual - he hasn’t gained very much in comparison to what he lost - but somehow he feels  _ heavier _ . And it’s all because of Gaston.

LeFou tries to figure out  _ why _ his friend is so obsessed with him eating well (perhaps a little too well). Was it . . .  jealousy that others were taking notice of him for once in his adult life? It was certainly a possibility; Gaston had seen green a lot as a child when the other boys were praised or treated differently than he was. This obsession seemed so odd that he just knew he had to confront his friend about it. But yet . . . Gaston did think LeFou was handsome back when he weighed more. Wouldn’t he believe it even more now, just like everyone else in the village? 

However, just as LeFou was working up the nerve to approach his friend, Gaston went off on a hunting trip to the mountain for the weekend. Usually, LeFou was riding right beside him, but with it being so close to Christmas, the tailor’s shop was buzzing with business before the holiday and LeFou couldn’t escape. 

“I’ll be back on Sunday, my dear friend,” Gaston assures him as he prepares his horse, Julien, for the long journey up to the hunting lodge. 

Sunday. That’s when LeFou will confront Gaston.

That weekend while Gaston is away, LeFou busies himself with work - plentiful this time of year. As he fastens buttons to cloaks and stitches, his mind wanders to what he’ll say, how he’ll approach what could easily be a very delicate subject. Gaston, although hardened, takes offense very easily and there is nothing LeFou wants to do less than fall out of the Captain’s favor. 

Frazzled by the busy season, LeFou works straight through his mid-day break on Saturday. When he returns home, walking through the blistering cold into an equally chilly home, he finds that Gaston left a loaf of bread and some squash soup in a pot on his kitchen counter, ready for the fire. As LeFou sits next to the fire, warming up and relaxing after a long day bowl of soup and toasted baguette in hand, he begins to see - perhaps - the bright side to this odd arrangement.

LeFou attends Mass on Sunday with nearly everyone else in Villevenune, but he cannot focus on Pere Robert’s liturgy as his mind wanders to Gaston. Outside of the chapel, Dick - who sat a pew in front of LeFou with his wife Vera and their three children - chides LeFou singing the wrong verse in the processional hymn but as LeFou tries to explain himself, he hears Paulette, Claudette, and Laurette chirp,  “ _ Gaston’s back _ .”

LeFou looks over his shoulders to the triplets, dressed in their matching church best. He didn’t mean for his head to whip so suddenly at the sound of his friend’s name, but it just happens. 

“Will you excuse me,” he pardons himself from Dick and Vera and ducks into the crowd to chase after the triplets and implore  _ when  _ Gaston got home exactly.

Late last night apparently. They heard Julien come down their road. 

LeFou wraps his scarf around his neck and stuffs his hands into his mittens as he prepares himself to walk from the town square to Gaston’s cottage. His mind rehearses what he thought about during Mass, but it seems all too real when he stumbles up through Gaston’s walkway. He notes the blood-soaked snow - Gaston has taken to butcher one of his kills himself. 

Taking a deep breath, LeFou walks up to the door and knocks.  

Gaston answers not long after and as soon as he opens the door, LeFou can smell something on the fire - the buck that was the spoil of the hunting trip most likely. He tries to ignore the hunger burgeoning in the pit of his stomach as he greets his friend who seems glad to see him. 

“LeFou! I wasn’t expecting you so early,” Gaston says.

“It was the hot gossip after Mass today,” LeFou tells him, smirking. Even though he’s only been gone a week, he misses their banter. He peers around the large form of the other man and sees the bloody apron sitting  on the chair, the antlers of a seven-point buck being prepared for display. “I see you had a successful trip without me.”

Gaston shakes his head and confides,“Ah, but it wasn’t the same, dear friend.”

As the door shuts behind them, LeFou feels like he’s being wrapped in warmth, he always forgets how much Gaston’s place makes him feel like this until he’s been away for some time. The dim light of the falling afternoon snow outside is balanced by the roaring fire in Gaston’s hearth, the furs and thick quilts  draped over the chairs beckon him in though he is most tempted by the enormous bear rug sitting in front of the hearth. This place is like home to him - maybe even a little more so than his cottage.

He breathes in the smell of  wood chips and that soup - venison, he knows. Venison and he’s not quite sure, but it does smell like Gaston seasoned the meat with something more than he usually does. It’s almost dizzying how amazing it smells and how tempted LeFou is to have a bowl. 

He is so enraptured with the thought of this dinner that he barely has noticed that Gaston has disappeared from view and has ducked into the kitchen area of his cottage.

“Care for a drink?” Gaston calls, holding a large glass jug of what looks like to be apple cider. “It’s from the festival last month and I was saving it for later, but now seems like a good time to share. Celebrating a successful hunt and all.”

“Sure,” LeFou murmurs. 

Gaston pours the amber liquid into two silver mugs. “Do sit down, LeFou. Make yourself comfortable.”

LeFou does just this, taking off his coat, scarf, mittens and hat and sitting in one of the chairs in front of the fire - the smaller of the two because the largest is always reserved for Gaston as it is near identical to  _ his  _ chair in the tavern. 

Crossing the room, Gaston offers LeFou his drink and sits down. LeFou raises it to his lips and nurses a sip. It burns at his throat with the tart taste of distilled apples. Madame Moreanu only brews this during the autumn harvest in limited quantities, so he enjoy it as slow as possible. 

“So -” Gaston begins as he sits down in his own chair and takes a sip of the cider. He adjusts himself and continues, “What brings you to my humble abode?”

“Well-” LeFou draws in a breath. As much as one can rehearse a moment in one’s mind, trying to calculate all of the potential results in one’s head, there is only one moment. “There has been something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” Gaston seems surprised by this.

“Yeah. I’ve just been noticing something and I wanted to ask you about it.”

“Go ahead.”

Thank God for the ale because he was in need of a bit of liquid courage right about now. He take a large gulp and wipes the corners of his mouth delicately. 

LeFou takes another deep breath. And he lets go. “Lately, I’ve tried to lose some weight but you’ve been offering me food all the time. Are you -” He hesitates because he caught Gaston’s piercing blue eyes. God. He can’t look at them and admit this. He closes his eyes; it was so much easier that way. He begins again. “Are you . . . upset about that?”

And there it was, so out in the open. 

Gaston is just as hesitant before he finally admits, “I believe I was.”

LeFou exhales because he’s just received confirmation. But now he needs reason. 

Thankfully, it takes less time for Gaston to continue, much stronger than LeFou could ever been in admitting something like that.  “You were always so  _ confident _ , LeFou. That’s a good trait for a man. And when you stopped eating it seemed like you had lost that confidence. Food used to make you happy and it no longer did that. So in that regard, I was trying to bring that back.”

“You don’t think there’s anything . . . “ He stopped. ‘Wrong’ was on the tip of his tongue but he rephrases because he still has questions. “Gaston. A while back, you were very drunk and I had to help you home. And as I was helping you into bed that night you said I was handsome.” Realizing that his could be potentially damaging to their friendship he hurriedly adds, “And I know you were drunk and tired and everyone says stupid things when they’re like that. But I just -”

Gaston sets his drink aside, stands. LeFou stops rambling, fixated by the large man who is now looming over him. A hand reaches for LeFou’s chin, a thumb plays under his lips. LeFou’s heart legitimately stops as he dares to stare up at his smirking friend.

“I meant it, I can assure you that, LeFou.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. And I still do.”

LeFou’s hand reaches around and touches Gaston’s wrists and the other man bends forward and kisses him on the forehead. His entire body seems to melt into the antler chair as Gaston’s lips press into his temple that he needs to grab Gaston’s wrist to support himself. As Gaston pulls away, he is left completely breathless.

Looking up, he smiles to Gaston, but he’s still hungry for more than a kiss on the forehead. His eyes are pleading. He can’t stop himself as he cranes his neck upwards and Gaston bends down and places another kiss, this time on the lips.

And LeFou is in heaven. 

As they part, LeFou whispers, “Thanks for the confirmation.”

Gaston laughs, resting his forehead against LeFou’s, but he is quick to remove it when he hears the low moan of LeFou’s stomach. LeFou did not eat breakfast that morning before Mass - a last-ditch effort to try and keep with his diet - so it’s no wonder why he feels so hungry. 

Gaston’s eyes are serious as he asks, “Are you hungry, LeFou?”

LeFou can’t hide the fact, can’t avoid Gaston who has become so concerned about what he has and has not been eating. 

LeFou nods.

“Well,” Gaston brightens. “ I’ll have dinner ready for us in no time. Don’t worry, dear friend.”

 

***

The soup is deemed ready by Gaston in a short while and he prepares two enormous bowls for them. He regrets the lack of something to accompany the soup as he searches through his cupboards. LeFou insists that he doesn’t need anything, the soup smells delicious and should be wonderful on its own. But through his rummaging, Gaston finds a baguette from before he left - a little stale, but easily softened when dipped in the soup. 

 

Many people may not believe that Gaston is a good cook, but given a good cut of meat and the right spices, his soup is as nearly as legendary as the man himself. LeFou has fond memories of sitting huddled in the cool mountain air, beneath the stars, as he clutches a bowl of perfectly tender venison and sweet onions and laughs along with the group as they relax after a long day hunting near the Firmin family hunting lodge.

And as the two of them sit before the roaring fire, each with the soup and a spoon, it seems just like the nights in the moonlight. Laughing over days gone by, the only difference is that they sit much closer to each other this time around.

As they talk, LeFou manages to down a bowl. It’s filling and rich and one should have been plenty. However, when Gaston offers a second, LeFou can’t refuse. He helps himself to a bit of the bread which wasn’t bad when used to sop up vegetables. As his spoon dregs the last few drops and strands of onion at the bottom of his bowl, he feels full and content. This is the most he’s eaten in a long time and drowsiness is ebbing. 

He sets the bowl down on the space between him and Gaston’s chair and falls back into the cushion of his own as he closes his eyes. Supper tonight will probably be something light, if he eats again all today. He sighs, satisfied but is immediately woken by the sound of clanking. 

Gaston is at the kettle once again with his ladle, holding LeFou’s bowl and pouring in another serving. 

Trying to protest, LeFou manages, “Gaston, I don’t think I could manage another bite. I didn’t have breakfast and the two bowls were -”

That was the wrong thing to say, LeFou realizes as he watches his friend stare at him and then returns to the kettle, tutting as he fishes out another large chunk of meat. “Then all the reason to have another,” he tells him. 

Gaston crosses the room and hands him the bowl. “Here.” He thrusts it towards LeFou.  

“No, Gaston, I really shouldn’t.”

And there it is. Shouldn’t and not can’t. He shouldn’t because he’s been trying to eat less, but in the brutal honesty, he’s not  _ completely  _ full and he could nurse a few more sips.

“Come now,” Gaston insists. “Do it for me.”

Those four words are all LeFou needs to raise the bowl to his lips, blow, and take a small sip of the broth.

Gaston bends down and kisses his forehead. “That’s it,” he encourages. 

The broth is still extremely warm despite being off the fire for a while now and as it trickles down his throat, it only adds to his sleepiness. But still, LeFou blows on the soup and repeats the process over and over again. All for Gaston. 

Having finished half the the bowl already, and believing that it’s enough to satisfy his friend’s desire to see him eat well, LeFou removes his lips from the bowl. He has never been so full in a long time and he has to adjust himself in the chair to accommodate the pressure in his belly.

“Gaston,” he mumbles. “I-I think I’m done.”

But Gaston doesn’t listen. No. Instead he perches himself on the edge of the chair and says, caught on a hot whisper, “I think you can eat a little more than that.” 

A hand reaches in the small distance between them for the buttons on LeFou’s waistcoat. Instead of popping the ones that are straining around his tight stomach, Gaston goes for the top ones, making a game out of tracing his fingers on the delicate designs etched into the metal before successfully unfastening them. He takes hold of LeFou’s cranberry cravat and pulls, the silky fabric tracing down LeFou’s neck and chest before being tossed aside onto the bear skin rug below them. 

Smirk still playing on his beautiful lips, Gaston leans forward and kisses just before LeFou’s jawline. As he surrenders, LeFou’s breathing hitches at the assault on his neck and certainly when another curious hand reaches and grabs his belly.  Gaston’s seems to love being on the fleshy expanse and rubs this way and that.

LeFou’s trousers, it must be noted, were tight to begin with (especially after two and a half bowls of rich soup, half a baguette, and a tankard of apple cider) but they become excruciating as he feels himself harden. He silently prays that another curious hand won’t reach forward and feel it, knowing how turned on he was by this too.

But nothing gets him harder than when a tongue lick up his stubbly neck before teeth lightly sink into his earlobe. He gasps at Gaston’s bravery and shutters when a deep voice reverberates with, “LeFou. Eat.”

LeFou takes the bowl up to his lips again and takes another sip as one-by-one, Gaston makes work with the rest of the buttons and manages to open the rest of the vest. It’s getting harder and harder to finish the soup but his efforts are eased by the soft nibbles and kisses all along his neck. 

Gaston pushes aside the sides of the vest and begins to pull up LeFou’s shirt from where it’s tucked into his trousers. LeFou’s breathing hitches the moment the hand touches the revealed skin of his stomach, the heat of Gaston’s fingers nearly burning his flesh. 

The encouraging voice whispers, “That’s it. Finish the bowl for me.”

Somehow, LeFou manages to drink the rest of the bowl. His struggle is made easier by Gaston’s gentle rubbing. There are still the dregs of meat left and LeFou doesn’t know if he has the energy to bother chewing them. But when Gaston  looks down, he tuts again and nestles his head into the crux of LeFou’s shoulder. 

“I caught that deer for you, my dear LeFou. Surely you can be polite and take a few bites for me.”

LeFou doesn’t know if he can handle it, but every word Gaston says makes him shudder and desperate to please him. He does as Gaston tells him and eats the deer meat. It’s much harder to get down than the broth and it takes so much out of him to chew the gamey bits. Trying to divert his thoughts from his lethargy and the stuffed pain in his stomach, he lets his mind wander to the actual taste of the meat. He gets hints of the savory of oregano and thyme, with a dash of rosemary mixed with the freshness of the meat.   

Suddenly, the rest of the meat is gone and he’s groaning. Gaston kisses his cheek sweetly, tenderly. There isn’t the desperate passion of the last five minutes, just an honest kiss. 

“You did so well, LeFou,” Gaston says, sounding proud as he continues to rub LeFou’s stomach. “But let’s see if you eat one more.”

_ One more _ . The mere thought of putting away another bowl makes LeFou feel ill but at the same time he’s intoxicated with the idea. With Gaston praising him, he really does believe that he can do it. It was just the same as back in the war, with Gaston’s words being his strength, seeing him through it. 

“Gaston,” he pleads as Gaston takes the bowl from his hands and walks over to the kettle. “I -”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Gaston says as he ladles out a helping, a little less than the last one. “Just the broth this time.”

LeFou nods in agreement. Just the broth. He can handle another bowl of broth if they took it really slow. He closes his eyes and re-adjusts himself, leaning back against the cushion trying to relieve the pressure. If they’re going to do this, he needs to at least loosen his pants. 

His hand reaches forward and pulls at the drawstrings holding his pants together but he is stopped by Gaston, who insists, “Let me do that for you.” And because Gaston offered, he can’t refuse as his fingers reach down and unknot the string and unfastens the button. 

Gaston gets to his knees and it sends a shiver through LeFou’s spine; the position is so submissive, something that LeFou would expect himself to do for Gaston. But here’s this perfect man, this Adonis, bowing before him, fixated on the feature that he lacks with adoring eyes ( and almost ignoring LeFou’s slowly hardening member). With eager hands, he works to push LeFou’s shirt up and over his head and pull down his knickers so his paunch spills onto his lap, completely exposed. Even in the dim lighting, LeFou knows that Gaston can see the faded stretch marks webbing down the sides of his belly, jutting up his wide hips like milkweed, and the small circular scar left from his time as a soldier.

LeFou looks down at Gaston who looks up at him. With a small smile, Gaston leans forward and kissed the swell of his stomach, right above his navel. 

“ _ Perfect _ ,” Gaston murmurs hotly against LeFou’s skin. 

LeFou can feel tears stinging his eyes as Gaston’s mouth traces the silvery trail of one of the scars. Gaston is perfectly sober and has told him with a perfectly clear mind that he’s perfect. He’s  _ perfect _ . 

He reaches forward and runs an appreciative hand through Gaston’s thick hair and tugs the ribbon holding the dark locks together before letting them cascade onto the other man’s brawny shoulders. A deep, throaty laugh reverberates against his stomach and teeth bite the flesh as form of getting back for that action.

But the real payback is when Gaston hands him the bowl again and tells him to start eating. 

Taking a deep breath, LeFou spreads his legs apart so his stomach has more room and prepares himself. He’s already so full that anymore and he’ll feel like explode. With a final sigh, he takes the bowl to his lips and begins to drink the broth. He has to take is very small and all while breathing in through his nose; it seems to help him be able to force it down. God, he’s sure by now he’s never eaten so much at once in his entire life.

Gaston isn’t even watching this amazing feat of gluttony as he’s too focused on kissing and nibbling every last inch of LeFou’s sizeable waist. When he looks down while taking a break between sips, Gaston just seems so wrapped up, so  _ obsessed _ , with it. His hands are wandering upward, his fingers tracing LeFou’s hips, desperate to hold on to them.  

The last few sips take as long as it took to get the rest of the bowl down. LeFou feels like he’s going to burst - not quite to the point of being physically ill, but right on the edge. But somehow, someway, he finishes. 

The bowl in made of wood so he has no qualms with throwing it down onto the floor in exhaustion. He closes his eyes, moans and arches his back, desperate to reveal some of the pain in any way. His hand reaches forward to touch his abdomen and he’s shocked to feel how tight it is, how different it feels from the normally flabby expanse. He looks down and is slightly horrified to see how  _ big _ he’s become just from the last bowl. Spherical and firm, it resembles the abdomen of a woman who is with child. 

And just like a father, Gaston seems proud of what he’s done. Hand never leaving where it’s place, he places a kiss LeFou’s stomach adoringly before he stretches and kisses his forehead once more. “You did wonderful.”

LeFou only groans in response, eyes closing again. The whole ordeal has left him tired feeling like he needs to lay down and nap off the drunken state a full stomach has left him. 

Gaston moves from his forehead to his lips. Inhaling deeply through his nose, LeFou falls against him and wraps his arms around the other; he needs Gaston’s shoulders to support him, partly because of his weariness, partly because he is still struggling to believe this is happening that the man he’s admired for so long is so desperate to touch him, to  _ love  _ him. 

Hands skirt off of LeFou’s belly and down to his thighs as Gaston’s kissing becomes more fervent. Fingers trace themselves up and down, creating friction along the still clothed area of LeFou’s body before they reach and graze LeFou’s still half-hard cock under the strained fabric. Tongues thrash as the pair presses against each other, seeking contact. Teeth grow adventurous as Gaston gnashes against LeFou’s bottom lip as they begin to trail once again down his neck.

“Gaston, please,” LeFou begs, rolling his hips out to get all he can of Gaston’s touch. “I n-need -”

Gaston doesn’t let him say anymore. Instead, he shifts his hands from LeFou’s crotch to around his waist. LeFou misses the touch for only a second before he’s pulled down from his spot in the chair and onto Gaston. The two men laugh before Gaston pulls him into another intense kiss as he rolls him over onto his back.

The stronger man sits up and begins to work on unfastening LeFou’s knickers and pulling them off along with his loose trousers. LeFou’s member springs to life as Gaston tugs the pants off of his hips. He pulls off his shoes and throws them across the room towards the door, making LeFou laugh, before he rolls down his stockings and bundling them in with the knickers and pants. Tossing the whole collection over his shoulder and across the room, Gaston sits straight up and admires LeFou’s completely naked body.

With a soft smile, he tilts his head to the side, dark curls tumbling with off his shoulder as his delicate touch traces the length of LeFou’s entire torso.

“I have never seen someone quite so handsome as you, LeFou,” he tells him as his hand rests on the smaller man’s distended stomach.

LeFou waits for the inevitable _ except for perhaps me _ or some other narcissistic comment, but it never comes. Instead, Gaston focuses on taking his own clothes off, starting with the buttons on his red and yellow waistcoat. Resting on his elbow but finding it very difficult to sit up when he was stuffed like this, LeFou offers to help undress him. But Gaston dismisses him, telling him to relax, as he makes quick work with tossing the vest aside and tugging his shirt out of his trousers.

During the war, LeFou had only been able to steal quick glances at Gaston’s impressive physique in all it’s glory, but now, before the roaring fire, every ripple and bulge of Gaston’s abdominals is on full display. Toned and taut, LeFou’s jaw drops as he gasps and feels himself grow completely hard.

(And he has to nearly pinch himself to believe this is really happening. A man with a body like Gaston is in love with man with a body like LeFou’s. )

 

Gaston leans forward and seals the space between them with another burning kiss. He still has his trousers and boots on, but as he lays on top of LeFou, the man’s burning erection is prominent and pushing against LeFou’s thigh. 

He needs friction. He needs to be touched.

His begging hips buck upward, craving for skin-to-skin contact, for Gaston’s fingers to grip him and give him what he so desires. In the gasps between kisses and the frantic rutting, he moans, “Fuck me, Gaston.”

“Not on the bear rug,” Gaston mumbles into his neck, playfully biting into the flesh there. “It’ll get soiled.”

And with one quick swoop, he manages to lift LeFou up and off the ground by cupping one strong arm underneath his ass. In a desperate  attempt to hold on to the barge-sized man, LeFou wraps his thighs around the trim waist and put his arms around his thick neck, burying his head into the perfectly sculpted pectoral of the other man.  

“You see? You’re not too heavy for me to lift,” the man chuckles with pride as he carries LeFou up the stairs leading to the cottage’s bedroom. 

It’s still light outside - LeFou supposes that it’s only early afternoon and the time they spent eating felt much longer than it really was - but still it’s not quite as good as the fire downstairs. From the brief moment LeFou looks over Gaston’s shoulder, he sees that a snowstorm has started outside and all the world is a blanket of white.

He is set down onto the center of the bed, on top of the thick quilt - as Gaston begins to take off the rest of his clothing. LeFou is conflicted - on one hand, he wishes that Gaston would slow down, tease him. But on the other, he wants to return to what they’ve started. It was a nearly two minute affair getting to the bedroom, but LeFou is already so starved for Gaston’s touch - he’s had a taste and now he needs his fill.

It’s such a relief as when Gaston joins him back on the bed covers him once more and they are completely skin-to-skin and he can feel Gaston’s erect penis rub up against his thigh as he’s pulled in once again to their Eden. He wishes that his heavy belly wasn’t in the way so he could get a proper look; he was only going after what he imagined it to be like all those nights while they slept side-by-side in the war. 

But Gaston is so desperate and eager, so enraptured with LeFou that he begins to explore all of his body once more, mesmerised with every last curve. Over LeFou’s gasps, he praises him. “My God, LeFou,  you’re so handsome; how has no one snatched you up yet?”

“ _ Gaston- _ !”

“You’re amazing,” Gaston’s voice rumbles against his chest as his lips trail down to LeFou’s hard nipples. His tongue circles it before taking it completely in his mouth and biting.

“ _ G-Gaston!  _ I need! Ah!”

“You have the body of a god.” Gaston tongue is roaming south once more, suckling on the stretch of LeFou’s bulging belly. “So strong and thick and yet so soft -” He bites above LeFou’s navel.

“Gah!”

LeFou pants because he doesn’t know much he can take of this; he’s desperate for more satisfaction than the small bursts he receives from rubbing himself against Gaston. “I need you inside me, Gaston!”

With a smile and careful hands, Gaston helps LeFou flip over and get to his knees; he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself when he’s still so full. As Gaston rummages through the chest of drawers next to his bed to find the little vile of lube, LeFou balances himself as one hand reaches under to cup his belly. He’s only a little surprised that’s still so tight and stretched. Really the most surprising thing about this whole day was  _ this _ was what turned Gaston on about him. This feature he was trying to rid himself of. If only he had known . . .

 

He is woken from his thoughts when he receives a firm spank on his behind that sends him jolting forward; it’s a miracle that he manages to keep his balance on his one hand. 

“And that  _ ass _ ,” Gaston exclaims, taking a handful and squeezing, squeezing just like he did all those night ago. It’s a sensory overload for LeFou as the man’s other hand teases his entrance with the lube.

“ _ Ah! _ ” 

“It’s as round and full as a woman’s, maybe even more so,” Gaston continues, his fingers dancing over LeFou’s hole in lewd circles. One finger has the audacity to push past the surface and LeFou gasps at the convulsion sent through his body. He doesn’t dare look back to see the other’s face, but he knows that Gaston is fully aware how much control his has over him and is relishing this. 

“ _ M _ -more!” He hisses. One finger and one second wasn’t enough. 

But yet Gaston was still teasing him, pressing his fingers against the muscle of LeFou’s entrance, giving him a preview.

“God it’s going to feel amazing while you’re riding me, moving up and down.” He traces down the curve of his ass and begins to play with his balls as well. LeFou’s hands tug at the quilt they’re on top of, needing something to ground him every time Gaston’s touch sends him towards the stars. “Trying to get all you can of my cock -”

“Gaston,  _ please! _ ” LeFou practically whines.

And then Gaston finally puts in one finger, a little quicker than LeFou would have wanted. Gaston’s fingers are large and LeFou is thankful for the lube, the burning sensation filling him up. But soon the pain melts to pleasure as Gaston goes deeper and he’s begging him for more.  His shoulders hunch forward when the second finger is added and he pants lowly, trying not to fall completely apart as Gaston begins to stretch the two appendages in a scissor-like motion to prepare LeFou’s hole.

But nothing could ever prepare him for when Gaston removed his fingers and the tip of his cock pressed against the entrance before pushing in. 

LeFou has to stagger his breathing. God, he knew he should have expected Gaston’s member to be overwhelming but  _ this _ . This is a red hot burning sensation and he wished he had something to bite on to keep him from screaming. Gaston is steadily pushing himself in but even with him being mindful, it’s practically sending LeFou over the edge.

He glances down underneath himself, feeling that his own cock is throbbing and needy, but he can barely see with the way his belly hangs and he needs both hands to steady himself. Through gasps and heavy panting, he manages to plead, “Gaston! Touch me!”

A lube-coated hand reaches for his cock and LeFou bucks back deeper onto Gaston’s dick, the two-fold attack on his senses sending him closer to his climax. Already he can feel himself drip with precum. 

And if that wasn’t enough, Gaston is still babbling away as he simultaneously begins to pump LeFou’s cock and thrust into him in a steady, slow rhythm.

“LeFou, I’ve never been with someone so beautiful.  _ Never _ . Your curls are falling all over the place as you’re sliding on my cock, it’s incredibly attractive seeing you so completely wrecked.” Another hand reaches forward and grabs hold of the belly that’s wobbling with every thrust and the fingers begin to kneed it in a surprisingly soothing way. “God, you’re still so full from our dinner and soon you’ll be so full of me.”

LeFou lets out an animalistic sound when Gaston says this, pushing himself against Gaston’s hip and meeting each and every thrust; he wants as much Gaston as he can get. He’s so close and his vision is becoming blurry as he is filled with such warmth every time Gaston hits the spot that makes his toes curl. 

“I’m almost-” He tries to warn but can’t seem to manage to finish his sentence as the other man’s strong hand wraps even harder around his base. 

“Let go, LeFou,” Gaston purrs and it’s enough to send LeFou over the edge.

He screams Gaston’s name as he spills himself all over the quilt. Curls falling out of his ponytail brush his shoulder as he throws his head back, his back arched, and mouth wide open. Gaston lets go of his cock and his slick with ejaculate hand goes up towards his belly, steadying himself as he chases his own climax.  It’s not a minute later and he’s filling the smaller man, his fingernails sinking into the flesh of his stomach.

The pair practically collapses together but they manage to stay up until Gaston is completely finished. With a heavy sigh, he pulls himself out of LeFou and rolls over onto the bed. LeFou drops to his front and with some difficult, manages to maneuver his swollen gut into aiding him flop down next to Gaston. 

Side-by-side they lay, trying to regain their breath and place in the world.

God.

LeFou can’t believe he’s here, spread out in a post-coital glow on Gaston’s bed. 

A smile plays on his lips.

Gaston’s bed. He just had sex with Gaston.

When he allowed his fantasies to dream up what it would be like to be lovers with his Captain, he never fathomed the possibility that’d  _ he _ would be the one so worshipped in bed, that he would be the one who’s Gaston’s focus would be on pleasing. He saw himself being a slave to Gaston’s every whim, making him feel good. But yet, here he was, full and content and flushed, the idol of Gaston. 

Lips press against his cheek as a hand reaches and wraps itself around LeFou. Gaston’s face - sweaty and red but with the broadest smile LeFou has ever seen him with - lulls into his shoulders as thick arms squeeze him tightly. 

“So perfect,” Gaston mumbles sleepily.

And LeFou never felt so handsome. 

 


End file.
